


Just For The Summer

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4095277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The townie and the tourist: it’s practically a cliche, but Bellamy can’t exactly help himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bellamy hated Lake Arcadia. **  
**

He hated the lake smell, the tang that followed him everywhere.  He hated the tourists who swarmed the town every weekend throughout the summer, acting like owning a house on the lake (because of course they owned all the property with lake frontage–no one who lived there year round could afford it) meant they owned the town and all its inhabitants too.  Meanwhile, the people who actually lived in Arcadia were left to clean up their messes–serve them dinner, mow their lawns, and in the winter shovel their driveways and check their houses to make sure animals weren’t nesting.  But Bellamy made good money picking up after the tourists, and between that, the library, and Nyko’s Bar he made enough to pay the mortgage and keep the lights on.  Well, just barely.

He really, really hated Arcadia, but he also didn’t really have any other options.

The screen door slammed behind Octavia and she threw her striped apron over a kitchen chair.  “Holy shit, Bell.  You would not  _believe_  what went down today.”

“Indra fire someone again?”  he asked, keeping his eyes on the scrambled eggs in front of him.  (He wasn’t the best cook in the world, but he could manage eggs.  Which meant they ate a lot of eggs, but at least it was better than fast food.)  Indra was a notoriously tough boss, despite owning a fudge and taffy shop that was decked out entirely in pink, white, and green frills.

“Nope.  You know Finn, right?”

Bellamy scraped the bottom of the pan and pulled two pieces of toast from the toaster.  “Yeah.  The dude with the hair.”  He actually knew way more about Finn Collins than he ever wanted to, thanks to Octavia and her friends.  Finn didn’t grow up in Arcadia, but he played soccer for their main rivals and Octavia had yet to miss a game.  And then he went and got a job at the ice cream shop (pardon: shoppe, because for some goddamn reason every tourist town in the north woods was required to have a fudge and taffy store and an ice cream shop and pretend it was 1932) next door to Indra’s and Octavia had kept him posted on every Finn Collins related development all damn summer.  Bellamy was reasonably sure O didn’t have a crush on him and only enjoyed the soap opera arcs of his life.  Or at least he hoped so, because Finn seemed far too easy-going.  Bellamy didn’t trust people who acted like they had no problems in life, because they were either lying or idiots.

 

“Right.  Him.  So you know how he’s been dating Clarke, right?”

Bellamy grunted acknowledgement, because everyone in Arcadia knew Clarke Griffin.  Her family owned the second biggest house on the lake, right next door to the biggest, which was owned by the Jahas.  The Millers had the one next door to the Jahas, and Octavia called that stretch of the lake the Royal Mile because all three had garages bigger than their little shitbox house.  And according to Octavia’s live action soap opera recaps, Clarke had started dating Finn in June.

“Right.  So I was on break today and I went over to see if Fox wanted to take her break at the same time, and Clarke was there, and she and Finn were like, making out at a table in the corner when  _Raven_ walks in.”

“The hell is Raven doing in Arcadia?”  Bellamy knew Raven well enough, since she took classes at the same two-year extension campus he did.  Most of their classmates were looking for an associates degree to become cops or electricians, but Raven stood out.  She wanted to get a mechanical engineering degree from a  four-year university, but like Bellamy, her family and financial situation didn’t exactly make that possible.  They weren’t close friends, but they got along all right.  But Raven was from the same town as Finn, a good thirty minutes away, and stopping by Arcadia in the middle of the day seemed strange.

“I’m getting to that.”  Octavia rolled her eyes and took an enormous bite.  “She was surprising  _Finn_  at work, because  _she’s his girlfriend too_.”

Bellamy froze in the middle of washing the pan.  “Wait,  _Finn_  is Raven’s boyfriend?”  He knew she was seeing someone a year behind her in school, but he’d never really paid much attention to who.

“Yup.”  Octavia smiled around her food, clearly enjoying the gossip.  “Anyway, she walks in and it’s like the whole place goes ten degrees colder and darker, and Finn freezes and Clarke looks so confused, and then Raven just goes _fuck you_  and takes off.”  She chewed for a minute and then continued.  “And then  _Clarke_  goes running after her, but Finn can’t because his break is over and if he leaves he’ll get fired, and then when I left today Clarke and Raven were sitting by the gazebo,  _still talking._   I’m betting there’s going to be some revenge of epic proportions.”

“I’ll let you know if I find pieces of his scalp on the way home.  Wash your dishes tonight, O.  I’m not doing them for you again,” Bellamy warned and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head as he headed out.

Truth be told, Bellamy mostly forgot about Octavia’s story by the end of his shift at Nyko’s, and three weeks later school started again and Arcadia reverted to a ghost town.  Indra’s wouldn’t close until after the fall colors faded, but the ice cream shop (Bellamy refused to even mentally call it shoppe) went dark and life went back to normal.

But then Raven showed up on his doorstep in late September with a beat up duffle bag and her motorcycle.  “My mom kicked me out,” she announced unceremoniously, the last few bugs of the season swarming around her head under the porch light.  “I’m surprised she kept me around this long–I thought I’d be out the day my dad’s child support checks stopped.   But now I have a reason to go and I hear you have an extra room.”

Bellamy stared at her dumbly and moved aside.  “How did you hear that?”

“Your little sister never shuts up.  Look, I know money has to be tight, because you’re working like, six jobs and going to school.  I’ve got a job at the garage, I’m clean enough, and I can pay $350 a month for my room and buy all my own food.  I promise not to throw any parties without asking you first, and I won’t make your sister a fake no matter how much she begs.”

Raven’s words were brash and brave, but Bellamy saw the fear lurking in her dark brown eyes.  “Three-fifty a month, and no touching the thermostat.  Get used to wearing sweaters,” he replied, and she stuck out her hand.  

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

**

“I’m off to check the houses–Raven should be home soon,” Bellamy yelled up the stairs. He waited for Octavia’s acknowledgement, but with her music as loud as it was, she might not have even heard him.  He pulled on a beanie and flipped his collar up against the winter wind and set off.  Three times a week he walked through the Royal Mile, checking the pipes and making sure no squatters had set up shop.  Most people used a service to do this, but the Griffins, Jahas, and Millers had approached him four years ago, just after his mother died, to see if he wanted to do it for them instead.  They paid cash, upfront, which meant he didn’t have to declare it on taxes (which wasn’t strictly legal, but fuck it–they were poor), and in turn he kept the local meth heads from living in their summer homes when the weather turned cold.  If they decided to make a winter trip they would call ahead and he’d shovel the driveways, but so far this year no one had contacted him.

His ancient pickup rattled loudly as it climbed the hill to the Millers’ four bedroom house.  Why they needed four bedrooms for a father and son, he didn’t know, but he was getting paid to walk through it, not question their life choices.

The Millers’ was quiet and the Jahas’ deserted, but when Bellamy followed his usual routine and took a shortcut through the side yard into the Griffins, something gave him pause.  He stopped in the side entry way, wondering why he could see better than usual, and then he heard…movement.

 _Dammit_.  He hoped it was just kids and not a meth head, because kids he could scare away.  Meth heads might require a cop.  Bellamy turned off his flashlight and crept toward the source of the light.  “Who’s there?” someone called in a shaky voice.  It sounded scared, not stoned. That was promising, at least.  Bellamy skirted the kitchen and headed into the living room.  “Who’s there?” the shaky voice called again, just as he stepped into the yellow circle of light.

It was Clarke Griffin, bundled in a red plaid blanket, her eyes puffy and her cheeks wet.  She looked like hell.  “I didn’t know anyone was coming up today,” he said instead of apologizing.

She sniffled and wiped her cheeks.  “It wasn’t exactly planned.  You’re Bellamy, right?”

“Right.  Your dad pays me to look after things in the off season,” he explained, totally unprepared for her to break down sobbing at the information.  “Hey hey hey,” he said, worried that he’d set her off and not really understanding why.  Clarke shook her head furiously and buried her face in the blanket.  Bellamy took a seat next to her and gingerly laid a hand on her back.  When she didn’t shake it off he started rubbing slow, careful circles as she sobbed, leaving him totally bewildered.  His phone beeped and he dug it out of his pocket.

_Raven Reyes_

_9:36pm_

_< O said you’re doing the rounds, but when you get back I have a six pack with our name on it.>_

_Bellamy Blake_

_9:36pm_

_< Might be a bit.  Clarke’s here, and she’s kind of messed up.>  _

_Raven Reyes_

_9:37pm_

_< Oh fuck.  Her dad died last month.  I’ll be right over.>_

Less than five minutes later, Reyes roared up on her motorcycle and flew in through the side door.  Clarke was still crying, hiding her face while Bellamy rubbed her back for lack of anything better to do.  “Hey girl,” Raven soothed, pushing Bellamy off the couch and taking his place.  “Does your mom know you’re up here?”

“Like she gives a shit,” Clarke snarled.

Raven stiffened and jumped off the couch.  “Phone.  Now.”

Clarke wiped her cheeks ineffectually.  “I told you, she doesn’t care.”

“Yes she fucking does.  Phone.”

Clarke pulled her phone out from the purse near her feet and placed it in Raven’s outstretched hand.  Raven tossed the phone to Bellamy.  “Call Abby and tell her Clarke’s here,” she ordered.

Grateful for something useful to do, Bellamy ducked into the kitchen and scrolled through Clarke’s phone until he found a contact labeled  _Mom_.

She picked up halfway through the second ring.  “Clarke?  Honey, are you alright?”

Bellamy cleared his throat.  “Actually, this is Bellamy.  Bellamy Blake, up at Arcadia?  Clarke’s here, and she’s fine.  Or–”

Bellamy felt, rather than heard, Abby’s sigh through the phone.  “As fine as she can be.” she finished.  “This is my fault–I made an offhand comment about maybe selling the lake house now that–well, I suggested selling it.  She’s in one piece?”

“She is.  Raven Reyes is here too,” Bellamy offered.

“Raven–from the garage?  Good.  That’s good.”

“Tell Abby I’m staying with Clarke overnight,” Raven hollered from the other room.

“I heard that,” Abby replied.  “Tell Raven thanks, and ask if she can talk Clarke into coming home tomorrow so we can talk about this.  Thank you, Bellamy,” she said sincerely.

“No problem, Dr. Griffin.”  Bellamy hung up and ventured back to the living room where Raven had joined Clarke under the blanket.  “Your mom would like you to come home tomorrow,” he told Clarke.  “And I’m going home too.  Call if you need anything?”

Raven nodded and waved him out, already turning back to Clarke.

**

Bellamy didn’t see Raven until dinner the next day, when she got home from her shift at the garage and Bellamy was getting ready for his at Nyko’s.  “I didn’t know you were friends,” he said from the table while Raven poked through the fridge.

“Who, Clarke?  I mean, it’s not the usual way to start a friendship, but she’s not half bad.  She didn’t know about Finn any more than I did, so the way I see it, she’s as much of an innocent bystander as me..”  Raven swung the fridge door shut and cracked open a beer.  “And you know, ovaries before brovaries, uteruses before duderuses, and all that.”

Bellamy finished his sandwich and left his plate in the sink.  “I’ll wash it tomorrow with my breakfast dishes,” he promised to Raven’s pointed look.  “I’ve gotta go, but is she okay?”

“Why do you care?” she asked sharply.

“Because she seemed pretty messed up last night,” he replied evenly.

Raven eyed him for a long moment.  “Sent her home to her momma bright and early this morning.  And hey–can I finish up your mayo?”

“Only if you buy more,” Bellamy replied and left for another damn night of pulling beers and mixing drinks.

**

Bellamy ended up thinking about Clarke a lot more often the rest of the winter and spring, since every time he walked through her lake house he wondered about her.  He should have recognized her grief right away–it was a pain he knew well.  And maybe throwing a temper tantrum and running away wasn’t the most mature way to handle things, but he wasn’t one to talk seeing as he was drunk for a week straight after his own mother’s funeral.  No  _for sale_  sign went up at the Griffin’s, though, and no realtor called to tell him his services were no longer needed.  And the second week of May Abby Griffin called his to let him know they would be up Memorial Day weekend, which gave him two more weeks to finish up the yard work on all three houses.  There was no mention of Clarke’s breakdown, which was just fine with him.

The less he thought about her, the better.

Memorial Day weekend was typically the opening weekend up in Arcadia– all the old time-y shops opened back up, and the bars were packed.  His shift at Nyko’s that Saturday seemed endless, and all he wanted to do when he got home was crash.

Which of course meant he returned home to find the lights blazing and a party spilling out onto the porch.  Bellamy groaned to himself, vaguely recalling a conversation with Raven that morning about “having a few people over.”  He should have guessed it would turn out like this.  He elbowed his way into his own home, past Clarke on the porch where she was having a clearly uncomfortable conversation with the Jaha kid, and found Raven looking not nearly guilty enough near the kitchen table (which was now hosting beer pong.)

“This what you call having a few people over?” he yelled over the thumping music.  They were lucky they lived on a corner lot on the edge of town, or else they would definitely be getting some noise complaints.

Raven shrugged and served, nailing her shot.  “It kind of snowballed.”

“You think?  Is O home?”

“Like half of this mess is her fault,” Raven said without looking.  Her opponent (a blond-ish guy, Bellamy’s age or a little older) tossed the ball and missed, and then they both had to suffer through Raven’s victory dance before she finished her thought.  “She’s around, though.  Somewhere.”

Bellamy sighed heavily and left through the backdoor, desperate for some silence.  In the patchy grass of the backyard he found Clarke, leaning against their one oak tree, looking miserable.

“Not your scene, princess?”

She wrinkled her nose.  “Not really.  Jasper and Monty invited Miller, but he would only come if Wells would come, and Wells would only come if  _I_  came, and according to Monty and Jasper that meant the future of their party and therefore their entire purpose in life would be in jeopardy if I didn’t show.  So here I am.”

“It appears your presence was successful, if the noise in there is any indication.”

Clarke gave him half of a smile, and he felt prouder than he should at that.  “What time is it?”

“One thirty.”

“That’s a reasonable time to leave, right?” she asked, looking hopeful.

“I think so.  You driving?”

“No, we walked.”

“Then I’ll walk you home,” Bellamy found himself offering.  He wasn’t sure why, but he was committed now.  The Griffin’s weren’t far from his house–maybe a fifteen minute walk.  Which meant thirty minutes round trip, but that meant thirty minutes away from the noise of the party, so he gestured toward the road and fell into step beside her.

“Jasper’s in love with your sister, isn’t he?” she asked when the party had faded to just the distant thump of bass.

“Since the third grade,” Bellamy confirmed.  “It’s a lost cause.  Why was it so important that Miller come?”

“I’m reasonably sure Monty has a thing for him.”

“I see.  And Wells has a thing for you.” 

She sighed and looked up at the night sky.  “Yeah.  I was hoping we’d moved past it.  I love him, but–not like that.  I just want my friend back, you know?”

“Give him time.  He’ll come around,” Bellamy assured her, not quite understanding why he cared about her feelings.

“I hope so.”  Clarke wrapped her arms around her middle.  “Thanks, by the way.  For this winter.”

Bellamy gave her a noncommittal shrug.  “It happens.  She didn’t sell?”

“I convinced her to give me one last summer and then we’ll talk.  It’s better than nothing.”  She tucked her fingers into her armpits and kicked a pebble that skittered across the deserted road.

“Cold?”

“I’m fine.  I just forget how chilly it gets here at night sometimes,” Clarke lied, shivering visibly.  She was just in a t-shirt and jeans, which was probably fine in the heat of the party but not nearly sufficient out in the open.

Bellamy pulled his hoodie off and handed it over before he could stop himself. Clarke opened her mouth to protest and he shook his head.  “Just wear it, okay?”

Clarke nodded meekly and slipped it on.  It hung a little too far down her legs and her hands were covered, but at least now he wasn’t the jackass ignoring the freezing woman next to him.  “The stars are so close out here.  You can’t see nearly as many back home.”  She snuck a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.  “You’re lucky to live in such a beautiful place.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”  Bellamy stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  “Or you could say I’m stuck in a dead end town where the best I can hope for is picking up after rich people for the rest of my life.”

“Rich people like me,” Clarke said softly.

 _Fuck_.  “Like you, but not–not  _you_  you,” he stammered, because he didn’t want to make her sad.   _Oh fuck.  I don’t want to make her sad.  That’s not good._

“I know what you mean.  It’s not fun being trapped, wherever you are.”  

They approached the edge of her family’s lawn and Bellamy drew to a stop.  They stared at each other for a little too long, the moonlight bleaching her hair silver.  “I should go,” he said, breaking the silence.

Clarke turned with a shy wave, but she hadn’t gotten more than fifteen feet onto her property when she spun on her heel.  “Bellamy–wait!” she called in a hoarse whisper.  He stopped and she jogged back to him.  “Thanks,” she said again and rolled onto her toes to press a brief kiss to his cheek.  Her lips were dry and the kiss was fleeting, but it burned into his skin all the same.  She smiled once more and melted back into the shadows of her lawn.

He was halfway home before he realized she still had his sweatshirt.

**

Raven slammed the screen door behind her as she stormed into the kitchen.  “Want to explain why Clarke Griffin returned your sweatshirt to the garage today?” She threw the sweatshirt in his face and took a seat opposite him at the table.  “I want answers.”

Bellamy set the sweatshirt aside and pretended to be very interested in his sandwich.  “I loaned it to her.”

“Last night?  When you disappeared with her for like, an hour?”

Bellamy returned Raven’s glare.  “She wanted to leave.  I walked her home.  She was freezing, so I gave her my sweatshirt.”

Raven arched an eyebrow.  “Please tell me you’re not interested in her.”

“Christ.  She’s practically a kid,” Bellamy protested.

“She’s eighteen,” Raven countered.

“And I’m twenty three.”

“She’s only a year younger than me, and that didn’t stop you from fucking me,” Raven hissed and Bellamy was devoutly grateful Octavia was not home to hear this fight.

“It’s different.”

“Different how?”  Raven’s voice dropped dangerously.  “Is it because she’s a goddamn princess and I’m just some trailer park slut?”

“Fuck you,” he growled, pushing back from the table.  “You know that’s not it.”  

Raven rolled her eyes.  “Just be careful, okay?”

“You know, if you don’t want me dating your friends you can just say so.  No need for all the theatrics.”

“Clarke can take care of herself.  She isn’t the one I’m worried about.”  She leaned back and crossed her arms, staring him down.

Bellamy generally lost staring contests with Raven and this one was no different.  “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a romantic.”

“I am not,” he argued.

She rolled her eyes again.  “Yes, you are.  You’re a romantic, and when you fall, you fall hard.”  Raven pushed herself up, the chair scraping across the linoleum.  “And at end of the summer, Clarke’s leaving and you’re not.”  She stomped down to her basement bedroom, leaving Bellamy alone with his thoughts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven's line about ovaries before brovaries comes from Parks and Rec, of which she is a huge fan.


	2. Chapter 2

“O, do you think…am I a romantic?”  Bellamy asked one rare night he had off.  Octavia was flipping through channels, half zoned out.

“What?”  She made a face at him.  “What’s this about?”

“Something Raven said.  Never mind.”  He waved her off and tried not to notice that Clarke had washed his sweatshirt and now it smelled like  _her_.  He’d been wearing it all day and he knew eventually, her scent would wear off.  The problem was, he didn’t exactly want it to.

“I mean, she’s right.  You read Jane Austen,  _willingly_.  And you’ve seen the movies.  You’re kind of into the whole true love thing, so yeah, you are sort of a romantic.  Is there some chick I need to beat up for you?”

“Nah.  Like I said, it’s nothing.”

Octavia gave him an absent-minded smile and rested her head against the armrest, the tv lighting her face in a bluish light.  “Let me know if I need to do some enforcing, okay?”

“Will do,” he replied with a smile.

 

 ** 

Bellamy could hear the party before he saw it, shrieks of joy coupled with the crackle of a fire.  “You really let them get started without you?” he asked Nyko, navigating the downed brush and tree roots as best as he could in the dark.

“This far out there’s not much damage they can do,” Nyko said with a shrug.  They emerged into a clearing lit by an enormous bonfire roaring away in the middle.  Dozens of people were already there, including the usual suspects.  Raven was talking to the blond man she’d been playing beer pong with at the last party, and over in the corner Monty was manning the keg while Jasper was spiking people’s cups with something from a labelless water bottle.  Bellamy made a mental note to avoid whatever that was, since he’d long ago stopped trusting the foster brothers’ experiments with alcohol, especially after Jasper returned from his stint in juvie with brand new recipes.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Octavia resting her shoulder against a tree and talking animatedly with someone Bellamy had never seen before.  He grabbed Nyko’s sleeve.  “Who’s that?”

Nyko gave him a knowing smile.  “That’s Lincoln.  He’s a friend of mine from college–works up at the state park now.  He’s fine.  You can trust him.”  Nyko leaned down to Bellamy’s ear.  “And don’t try to fight him, because he’ll kick your ass.”  Chortling to himself Nyko walked off toward the keg, leaving Bellamy to consider interrupting his sister  and her new friend anyway.

“Hey there,” Clarke said, appearing seemingly out of thin air.  “I didn’t think you’d be coming.”

“Nyko brought me,” Bellamy explained.  “What are you drinking?”

Clarke held up her red plastic cup with a wry grin.  “Just beer.  I’m a little scared to find out what Jasper and Monty made.”

“Good call.  Whatever it is, it will either make you blind or give you one hell of a hangover,” he said, unable to resist smiling back at her.  Ten feet away, Octavia laughed loudly and rested her hand on Lincoln’s forearm, drawing his attention back.

“Leave her alone,” Clarke warned.  “Lincoln’s a good guy.”

“I’m–I’m not–she’s my  _sister_ ,” Bellamy sputtered.

“Then you should trust her judgment,” Clarke pointed out.  Over by the keg, Monty started waving frantically in their direction.  “But I think I’m being summoned to help sort out some boy trouble–I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said, still distracted by how close his sister was standing to a guy with half a dozen tattoos.

He’d almost started toward her when Miller caught his attention.  He didn’t know the kid very well, but of the denizens of the Royal Mile he was the one Bellamy liked the best.  (Well, maybe second best.)  Miller spent a lot of time at the library and apparently disagreed with Bellamy’s recommendation table, as he immediately launched into a diatribe about  _Gone Girl,_ and by the time he escaped Clarke was no longer near the keg and Octavia was  _still_  talking to the bald giant.

“Don’t you even think about going over there,” Raven ordered, stumbling into his line of vision.

“Does everyone know what I’m thinking?” Bellamy grumbled.

“Yes.  Yes they do.  You’re not exactly a man of mystery.”  Raven swayed a little on her feet and gestured to the man standing next to her.  “This is Wick, by the way.  His first name’s Kyle, but like hell I’m calling him that.”

“Bellamy,” he said, extending a hand.  

The other man shook his hand firmly and let Raven lean against his side.  “Wick, apparently.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”  Bellamy knew most people in his general age range in the county, which meant Wick was either an outsider or way too old for Raven.

“Just moved.  I work up at the mine–engineering.”

Raven made a face.  “He thinks he’s smart.”

“Correction:  I know I’m smart,” he said with an unmistakable fondness on his face.

“Anyway, I’m out,” she said and threw an arm over Wick’s shoulders, sagging against him.

“You’re not driving,” Bellamy warned.

“Well I’m not leaving my baby here,” Raven slurred.

“My car is here–I can get her home,” Wick offered, hiking her up a little higher on his shoulder.  Bellamy raised his eyebrows.  “We’ll wait on the porch for you, if that makes you feel better.”

Bellamy plucked the keys from Raven’s hand.  “Then Wick will take you home, and I’ll follow on the bike.  Deal?”

“Deal.”  Raven rolled her head toward him and grinned evilly.  “But there’s one problem–I brought Clarke.  She’ll be needing a ride home.  That’s not going to be a problem is it, Bellamy?  Because you’re not interested in her, right?”

“Just tell me where to find her.”

“Other side of the fire.  Careful, Blake.”

“Don’t puke in Wick’s car.”

Clarke was sitting on a log by herself wearing a leather jacket and a glum expression.  “I don’t know why I keep getting talked into these,” she told him as he sat next to her.

“Me either,” he admitted.  “Change of plans–Raven’s too sloshed to drive, so Wick’s driving her back and I’m taking her bike home.  I hear you need a ride?”

“I’m ready when you are.”

Part of Bellamy wanted to stay by the fire and make her smile, so he stood up.  “Then let’s go.”  He lead her through the woods until the regular sounds of the night overtook the crackle of the bonfire.  Raven’s motorcycle was parked near the rest of the cars, an odd mix of beaters and Audis and Mercedes, the latter of which probably belonged to the tourists.  She picked up a helmet and buckled under her chin, and when Bellamy climbed on she hopped on behind him and secured her arms around his ribs.

He liked that too, and was grateful that the roar of the bike and the wind kept them from talking the whole way back.  He pulled to a stop at the bottom of the hill.  “This is as far as I go–the bike’ll wake everyone up,” he said over his shoulder.  Clarke climbed off and Bellamy knew he should just balance the bike until he saw her disappear into the house, but instead he kicked down the stand and killed the engine entirely, resting his helmet behind him.  “Sorry you didn’t have fun,” he said as she handed back her helmet.  Her hair was mussed and he curled his hands into fists to keep from fixing it for her.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she told the ground.  “Parts weren’t so bad.”

“Parts?”  He swung his leg over the bike and stood in front of her, instead of getting back on and driving off like he was supposed to.

“Parts.  Like the drive home.”  She looked up and smiled, and he took a step closer to her against his better judgment.  His pulse sped up and she curled her fingers into the edges of his jacket.  She tugged him closer and he let her, completely helpless.  One hand came up to cup her cheek and the other anchored itself to her lower back.  “And this,” she breathed and arched her neck, pressing her lips to his.  She tasted a little like beer but mostly like her, cool and sweet.  Without even thinking Bellamy brushed his tongue against hers, smiling to himself when she pulled back and nipped at his lower lip, but then he remembered.

He wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

“Clarke–I can’t,” he whispered even as he kept his forehead pressed against hers.

“Why not?”  Her breath fanned across his lips.

“Because.  You’re eighteen.  I’m twenty-three.”  His traitorous hands rested on her shoulders, keeping her close instead of pushing her away.

“So?”

“So?  You just got the right to vote.  I’ve been able to legally drink for two years.  It’s–it’s sketchy.”

Abruptly, she let go of him and stepped back.  “Did that bother you with Raven?”

“Jesus.  Did she tell everyone?”  Bellamy ran his hands through his hair and Clarke smirked.

“Pretty much.  But I’m an adult, so I’m not sure why you being older than me matters.”

“It just does, okay?  It does to me.”

“What if I told you I want this?”  Clarke stepped back to him and grabbed his jacket again.  “What if I told you that this doesn’t have to be anything but for the summer?”  She tipped her head back and looked him in the eye.  Her pupils were blown and he could barely see the ring of blue around them in the moonlight and he gave in again, because kissing her was the best he’d felt in ages.  Her hands tangled in his hair and his slid under her jacket, feeling her warmth seep through her thin t-shirt.  He dragged his mouth to the corner of her jaw and down, tasting her skin as he went.  She gasped and he wanted to keep going–more than anything–but headlights flashed around a bend behind them and Bellamy wrenched them apart.

“Go home.  We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” he urged, his hands still curving around her waist.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he agreed and stole one last kiss.  “Now go, or Raven will kill me for getting her bike home past curfew.”

Clarke looked over her shoulder every few steps, and Bellamy stayed until her bright hair disappeared behind her front door.

**

Raven was passed out on Wick’s shoulder on the front step when Bellamy pulled into the driveway, and together they carried her down to her bedroom in the basement.  The floor was littered with the old machine parts she was constantly tinkering with and Bellamy pulled off Raven’s shoes while Wick found her a glass of water and left it on her nightstand.

Up in the dim kitchen, Wick stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.  “So you and Raven,” the other man ventured.

Bellamy flipped on the harsh overhead light and poured himself a glass of water.  “We’re friends.”

“But you’ve hooked up.”

Bellamy set the glass down a little harder than he intended.  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.  “One time.  Months ago,” he clarified for Wick.  “How the hell do you even know?”

“She told me tonight.”

“Right.  Well, she’s not interested in me and I’m not interested in her, so you’re in the clear.  She was probably–”

“–testing me?  Yeah, I figured.  And there’s an ex somewhere, but I gather you’re not him.”

“No.  But he cheated on her, so she’s a little gunshy.”

“Got it.  You planning on kicking my ass if I come around more often?”

Bellamy leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest.  “That depends.  You here to mess around, or are you in it?”

Wick leveled his eyes at him.  “I’m in it.”

“Then we’re good.”  Bellamy nodded at him and Wick did the same and let himself out.

**

The second hand ticked slowly and loudly above Bellamy’s head and he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  Normally he liked working in the library–it was so much quieter than the bar–but today he needed the distraction serving dozens of loud, rowdy drunks.  The library was giving him too much opportunity to think.

 _We’ll talk tomorrow_ , he’d promised.  But how?  He didn’t have her number, and despite Abby Griffin’s general politeness towards him, he doubted she’d be thrilled if a townie like himself showed up on her doorstep, asking to see her only daughter.

 _When you fall, you fall hard._   Raven’s words echoed in the back of his head.   _Clarke’s not the one I’m worried about_.  He didn’t quite believe her, but her accusations set him on edge.  

 _It’s not like I’ve never done the summer thing_ , he reasoned.   _Roma and I ended just fine_.  Two summers ago he’d spent most of his free time screwing her in his bedroom, and when the weather changed and she stopped coming up, he hadn’t really missed her much.  Still, Roma never made his heart miss a step when she smiled like Clarke did, so maybe Raven wasn’t so far off.

 _And at end of the summer, Clarke’s leaving and you’re not._  It wasn’t like he didn’t know that.  Clarke was probably accepted to some private university, and this fall she’d leave and whatever they were would fade to a distant memory she’d trot out when talking about her summers and nothing more.  He was ostensibly fine with that, but it made his stomach curl uncomfortably.

 _And she’s eighteen_.  The truth was he didn’t really care that much about her age, but it seemed like a legitimate reason, so he clung to it with his fingertips.

A book slid across the counter and into his line of vision.  He picked it up blindly and ran the barcode scanner over the card and book.  “That’s due back in three weeks–” he recited, glancing at the patron and stopping mid-sentence.

Clarke smiled at him.  “I was wondering when you’d notice.”

Bellamy demagnetized the spine of the book and handed it over.  “Hi,” he said, because his brain seemed to have taken a vacation.

“Hi.”  There wasn’t anyone else in line (and the only other patrons were a mother with twin toddlers running around the children’s section and two elderly men reading the newspaper near the window) and Clarke stood there expectantly. “So you said you wanted to talk, but I figured you probably didn’t want to do that at my house.  Is this okay?  Or is this too stalker-ish?  Because I can leave,” she offered.

Bellamy looked over his shoulder at the clock.  “It’s fine.  My shift ends in ten minutes–mind waiting?”

“I’ll be outside.”  Clarke stuffed the book into her oversized purse and Bellamy did his best not to watch her walk to the doors but his eyes lingered on her legs anyway.

He found Clarke leaning her hip against his pickup, a greasy white bag clutched in one hand.  “I thought you might be hungry,” she said and held it up.  “So I got us burgers.”

 _There goes that plan_.  He’d intended to just come out and reiterate what he said the night before, but her ears were turning just the slightest bit red and her smile was shy and adorable and his stomach was growling, so he pulled open the door for her.  “Hop in.  You got anywhere you need to be soon?”

Clarke shook her head.  “Wells and Miller are trying to blow something up with Monty and Jasper, and I think my mom’s having dinner with Thelonius.  I’m all yours.”

So maybe his heart stuttered a bit at the way she said  _I’m all yours_  but he didn’t let it show, and turned the engine over.  They’d just past the last bit of town when she looked over at him.  “So where are we going?”

“The state park.  It should be pretty empty this time of day.”

“You’re not a fan of crowds, are you?” she asked as they slowed down near the ranger station.  

“Not really.”  The woman in the stand caught sight of his annual pass and waved them through, and two turns on a gravel road later and they were there.  Clarke was out the door before he even turned the truck off, and he joined her on the large granite boulder in front of them.

“I see why you like it here,” she whispered, the tiny lake (pond, really, when compared to Lake Arcadia) spread below them.  There was a cool breeze ruffling through the trees as she sat down cross-legged.  “Hamburger, or cheeseburger?”

“Hamburger,” he said, sitting down a safe distance from her.

“So I’m not going to pretend this isn’t nice, but we’re also not really talking,” Clarke mumbled around a giant mouthful of burger.

Bellamy looked out at the landscape rather than at her.  “I know.  I guess I don’t know what to say.”

She took a swig from a water bottle and handed it over to him.  “I’m not crazy, right?  There’s something here.”

Bellamy swallowed the water and dragged his eyes back to her.  “You’re not crazy,” he admitted.

“But I’m too young?”

“Maybe.  I just–where would this go?  You’re up here every weekend, sure.  But only until August, and then you’ll go back to your real life.” _And at end of the summer, Clarke’s leaving and you’re not._

“So?”  Clarke took another bite, leaving a smear of ketchup at the corner of her mouth as she chewed and swallowed.  “I’m not asking you to marry me.” She grabbed the water back and took a drink, but didn’t seem to notice the ketchup.  Bellamy reached out and used his thumb to clean it off, and Clarke grabbed his wrist.  Her eyes burned into him as she brought his thumb to her lips and gently licked it off, her tongue rasping lightly against his skin.  “I’m just saying, this could be fun.”

Bellamy forgot the rest of his feeble objections and closed the distance between them.  He kissed her chastely at first, but then she set down her cheeseburger on the bag and grabbed his face in her hands, running her tongue along his lower lip.  When he opened his mouth she shifted forward, pushing him back to the hard ground and settling on top of him.  She tilted her head to the side, her fingers sliding down his body, and Bellamy almost growled.  He rolled them over and settled easily between her legs, his lips searching out her earlobe and then moving down her neck as she shivered beneath him.  She returned the favor, attacking the spot where his shoulder met his neck and slipping her hands under the hem of his shirt.  They were cool as they moved up his back, her fingers digging into his muscles when he used one hand to cup her breast.  Clark arched into his touch and he nosed aside the loose collar of her shirt to lay open mouthed kisses on the place where her breasts began to swell and then up to her clavicle.

Clarke rolled them again and her hair hung down, a golden curtain around his face.  She broke the kiss and propped herself above him, her pink lips swollen.  “So we’re agreed?  Just for the summer?” she pressed.

In response, Bellamy cuffed a hand around the back of her neck and drew her down, because words were failing him but actions weren’t.  It wasn’t until he rolled them over a third time that he realized the light had changed–the sun was sinking behind the hills across from them, which meant the park was closing.  “We should go,” he panted, even as his thumb teased her nipple through her shirt.  Clarke made a disappointed noise and tried to chase his lips with hers.  “The park is closing,” he clarified, standing.  He helped her up, but got sidetracked when she leaned her back against the truck and pulled him close and then they were kissing again, his hands running up and down her sides and his thigh pressed between her legs.

Finally he wrenched himself away and helped her into the truck.  They didn’t speak as he tore out of the park and down toward town, the silence less awkward than on their way in.  He rolled to a stop sign and paused.  “Do you want me to take you home?” he asked the steering wheel.  Ahead of them Murphy blew through the opposite stop sign in his crappy Pontiac.   _Whoever taught that kid to drive was blind._

“Do you want to?” Clarke asked, bringing him back to the moment.

“Not really.  But it’s after seven-thirty, and I have to work at the bar at eight.”  He risked a glance at her and knew what she was thinking.  “And no, I’m not sneaking you in.”

She pouted, but her eyes danced.  “Fine.  You can drop me off at the end of my street.  Mom wants to leave early tomorrow to beat traffic, but we’ll be back Friday night.”  She asked for his number and he recited it as he steered the truck down the narrow asphalt lanes toward the lake.  She texted him so he’d have her number, and then with one more far-too-brief kiss, she was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_Clarke Griffin **  
**_

_3:59pm_

_You’d think working in a hospital lab would be interesting.  Instead I’m just a glorified dishwasher._

_Clarke Griffin_

_3:59pm_

_I was at least hoping to grow some ebola or something._

_Clarke Griffin_

_4:00pm_

_Also Mom has off Friday and I convinced her to let me take a half day.  So we should be in Arcadia by dinner time._

_Clarke Griffin_

_4:00pm_

_If that’s interesting to you._

Bellamy smiled and hefted himself off the couch.  He thundered down the steps to Raven’s room, where she was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by metal and wires.

“What are you building?”

“Stuff,” she explained.  “What’s up?”

Bellamy sat on her bed, his phone still in his hand.  “What did you mean when you said you’re worried about me being with Clarke?”

Raven frowned at the circuit board in front of her.  “So it’s happening.”

“Something is.”

She clucked her tongue and picked up a screwdriver.  “I meant that for all your grumpy exterior, you like to take care of people.  Women-people, specifically.  And Clarke’s hurting right now.”

“I wouldn’t–”

“Let me finish.  And hand me–that,” Raven said, flapping her hand toward a pile of wires.  Bellamy passed one over and waited.  “What I meant was you have a soft spot for people like her.  The only reason you ever even slept with me was because I was sad, and you’re the sort of sap who will literally have sex with a woman if you think it will make her feel better.  And I’m not saying her feelings aren’t real, but I am saying that she’s from a different world than people like us.  And people like that leave.”  She fell silent, but Bellamy knew who she meant.  Finn had left for college last fall and didn’t come home this summer, preferring to stay and keep his campus job instead.

“It’s not anything serious,” he suggested weakly.

“And if it was someone else, I’d believe it.”

“You haven’t even seen us together.”

“Have you fucked her yet?” Raven asked, sighing angrily when the wire failed to connect.

“Have you fucked Wick yet?” he countered.

“Not the point, but no.  And that’s how I know.”

“Know what?”  He wished he hadn’t even started this conversation.

Raven tossed her screwdriver down and looked at him.  “We’re the same, okay?  You and me.  Fucking is one thing.  We’re good at that, as we established back in October.  But if you were really, honestly, just wanting someone to fuck for a few months…you wouldn’t be doing shit like giving her your sweatshirt, or coming down here to have a heart to heart like we’re fucking thirteen year olds at a sleepover.  You’d screw her and that would be that.  But you haven’t, which means…I don’t even know.  That you’re scared, or worried, or god forbid you want to make it  _special_  and…I like Clarke.  I do.  But she’s going to leave and then I’m going to have to deal with your sorry ass broken heart.”

Bellamy let her words sink in and started up the stairs, but halfway up he paused.  “For the record, I don’t think Wick is going anywhere,” he said, and Raven smiled to herself as she returned to her work.

 

_Bellamy Blake_

_4:13pm_

_I work at the library until 5 and then 8 to close at Nyko’s, but I’m free for dinner._

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_4:16pm_

_Then I’ll text when we get in.  ;_ )

 

Bellamy clicked his phone off with the sinking feeling that Raven was right.

**

They fell into a pattern– on Fridays and Saturdays Clarke would be waiting for him with dinner when he finished at the library, and he’d drive them up to his spot in the park.  Sometimes they’d eat right away, but more often than not they’d find themselves tangled together until the sun set, and then he’d scarf down whatever cold, congealed food was in the bag with one hand as he dropped her off and headed to Nyko’s.  Their clothes stayed on and their hands stayed (mostly) outside of their clothes, although Bellamy suspected she wanted to take things further.  But he held back and tried not to remember what Raven said that might mean.

One friday Clarke lay with her head in his lap, watching the sunset.  He had himself propped up with one hand, the other fiddling with her hair.  “Does your mom know about me?” he asked.

“Sort of.  She knows I’m seeing someone, and I think she’s figured out it’s you.  I don’t think she knows how old you are though, because she’d probably put up a fight if she did.”  Bellamy winced internally at that.  “Do your friends know about me?”

“You haven’t told Raven?” he asked, intentionally avoiding the question.

“I sort of brought it up with her a few weeks ago but she got kind of pissy and I dropped it.”  She craned her neck to look up at him.  “Are you ashamed of me?”

“Christ, no.  I just–I didn’t know if you wanted people to know.”

She shrugged against his legs.  “I don’t mind if you don’t, but why do I get the sense that Raven might kill me?”

“She’s…protective, that’s all.  I’ll talk to her about it, okay?”

Clarke closed her eyes as he swept some sun-warmed strands of hair off her forehead.  “Okay.”

That evening, she didn’t get out of his truck right away as he pulled to a stop just feet from where they’d had their first kiss.  “I wish I could see you more,” she told him.

“I work until really late,” he replied lamely.

“How late?”

“I get home around one-thirty, usually.”

“Would–would you mind if I came over then?”

“Will your mom be okay with that?”

Clarke grinned.  “She’s a pretty sound sleeper, and I don’t really have a curfew anymore so I sort of come and go as I please.  One thirty?”

Bellamy grinned back.  “One thirty.”

**

Clarke was sitting on the front step when he pulled in that night, her arms wrapped around her knees.  She looked nervous.  “Did no one answer?” he asked as he walked over to her.  Lights were on in the house, and Raven rarely went to bed before three on the weekends.

Clarke raised and dropped one shoulder.  “I–I wanted to wait for you.”  

Bellamy held out his hand to her and kept it in his grasp as he pushed open the door.  Raven was on the couch next to Wick, watching something on TV that involved machine guns and spurting blood.  Raven looked up as he came in, her eyes darting quickly to Clarke.  “Hey guys,” he said as casually as he could manage.  “Have a good night.”

Raven waved at them half-heartedly, which was probably as good as it was going to get with her right now, and Wick smiled at them.  Bellamy towed Clarke through the living room and up the narrow, rickety staircase to his bedroom.  Octavia’s door was open and her room empty, but he didn’t really feel like worrying about that now.  He clicked his door shut behind them and watched Clarke take in her surroundings, from the giant pile of books next to his narrow bed to the dusty desk covered in more books.  She spun on her heels and dropped her jacket to the floor.  “I like it,” she whispered.  “It fits you.”  The shades were open and light filtered in from the lone streetlamp on the corner, setting her face in sharp relief.

Bellamy hooked his finger into the beltloop of her jeans and pulled her against him, sick of not kissing her.  She bumped into his chest and giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck and levering herself to kiss him.  Slowly he walked her backwards, his fingers inching under her shirt until Clarke stepped back and raised her arms over her head so he could pull it off.  Her bra was a simple beige one, no frills or lace.  Just her.  She did the same with his shirt and then pressed back against him, kissing him eagerly.  Clarke’s legs bumped against the edge of his bed and she stopped.  “Can we–I’m, um, not sure–” she stammered, and Bellamy dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“We’ll go at your pace,” he promised her, and a smile threatened to split her face in two.  His heartbeat picked up, and suddenly he felt utterly inexperienced and nervous.  He placed a hand on her breast, over her bra.  “Is this okay?” he asked as her eyes fluttered closed.  She nodded, and he pushed the cup aside, sweeping his thumb against her nipple as it pebbled under his touch.  “This?” he asked again, and in response she twisted her arms behind her back and unhooked the bra completely.

Her bare chest against his threatened to undo him.  He ripped the covers back from his bed and guided her down, kicking off his shoes and covering her body with his.  Clarke seemed to have the same reaction, locking her legs around his waist and keeping him close as her mouth slanted against his.  He trailed kisses down her neck, pausing when he reached her sternum.  “Okay?” he whispered against her skin and she twisted her fingers in his hair and pulled him up to face her.

“Just assume it’s okay unless I say stop, okay?” she said with hooded eyes and then released him.  Bellamy palmed one breast and bent his head, laving her nipple with his tongue until she was writhing beneath him and then doing the same to the other.  Her breaths became ragged and she pressed one hand against the headboard, bracing herself.  “More,” she whispered and he scraped his teeth lightly across the underside of her breast, wrenching a moan from her throat.  “Please, more,” she whispered again and he moved his head up to kiss her.  “Touch me,” she whispered against his lips.  “Please.”  Slowly he trailed his hand down her stomach and popped the button on her jeans.  He slipped his fingers inside her panties, parting her slick folds.

“Fuck,” he murmured against her neck as she moved her hips against his fingers.

“Please,” she whimpered and he drew his fingers through her wetness and up to her clit.  He moved them in circles, capturing the noises she made with his lips, until he felt her hips start to tremble.  Then he eased a finger inside of her and she threw her head back, arching against his pillow as he moved his thumb against her clit, faster and faster until the trembling turned to her inner walls clenching around his finger and her breath escaping her in a long, slow sigh that turned into a groan.

She lay boneless against his bed, her eyes heavy, as he withdrew his finger from her center.  “Okay?” he asked with a smirk and she slapped lightly at his chest.

“Shut up.”  Her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, the wispy hairs near her temple dark and sticking to her cheeks.  Her lips parted as she watched him bring his fingers to his mouth and lick them clean, eager for a taste of her, wondering just how far gone he was that she tasted better than he could have imagined.  She kissed him hard, her breasts pushed against his chest.  Clarke rolled them to their sides and danced her hand down his chest, over his stomach, coming to a stop at his waistband.  “Your turn,” she said and undid his fly, plunging her hand down to grasp him at the base.  She ran her hand lightly up his length and then back down.  “Pants,” she mumbled, and pulled her hand back.  “Off.”

She sat up on her knees, still clothed from the waist down, while he shucked off his pants and then his boxers, smiling mischieviously at him when he was bare, his erection resting against his stomach.  She settled herself near his hips and bent down, kissing first one hipbone and then the other, whispering kisses across his belly that made him even harder and more desperate.  Her name escaped his lips just as she took him in her hand and ran her tongue lightly across the tip.  She grinned up at him and did it again, making him fist the sheets in his hands, and then licked her lips right before she encased him in her mouth.  She started with just the tip, working the rest of his length with her hand, and slowly moved down until he pressed against the back of her throat.  She drew her lips up, almost letting go, and then started again, setting a rhythm just this side of too slow that made him see white.  He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine and Clarke sped up slightly, dragging her tongue along the underside of his shaft as her lips and hand worked in tandem.  He barely had the presence of mind to tap her shoulder as a warning before he came but she stayed where she was, letting him pulse down the back of her throat and licking her lips as she let him go.

She crawled up his body and kissed the corner of his mouth as returned to himself.  “Fuck,” he breathed and curled an arm around her waist.  “Fuck,” he said again and kissed her deeply.  “I wasn’t exactly expecting that.”  She smiled proudly and curled against his chest, his heart still racing.

Bellamy drew his arms around her and they laid there for several long moments until Clarke broke the spell.  She lifted her head, looked at the clock radio on the shelf over his bed and wrinkled her nose.  “I should go–even if I don’t technically have a curfew, getting home at three am is probably pushing it.”  She buried her face in his shoulder.  “I really don’t want to, though.”

Bellamy sympathized, because every bone in his body wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with her for the next twelve hours, but he sat up and dislodged her.  “Then we should get going,” he rasped.

Clarke slid out of the bed and buttoned her jeans as she searched his floor for her bra.  Bellamy redressed himself and by the time she’d shrugged her jacket on they didn’t have an excuse for lingering.

Just like the first night, they mostly walked in silence. But unlike that night her arm was across his back and his was across her shoulder, and she leaned into him while he pressed the occasional kiss to the crown of her head.  Usually he let her go at the edge of her property, but that night he walked with her right up to the side door because that meant a few more seconds with her.  She kissed him goodbye and he turned to leave, the dew soaking into the hems of his jeans as he cut across the lawn and back toward the road.

Raven was right.  He was fucked.

**

That night started a new pattern–he would meet Clarke for dinner and take her up to the park, and after he got off work she would be waiting for him.  Slowly she moved from waiting on the front step to waiting with Raven or Octavia, watching TV.  Raven thawed towards her and soon he was coming home to find them deep in discussion, usually about Wick and Raven’s feelings about him.  The extra hours in the middle of the night meant there was slightly less desperation while they ate dinner, and consequently they started talking more.

And every damn night, he got a little bit more screwed.  She showed him her sketchbook, making him the second person after Wells to see her talent.  They plotted ways to get Monty and Miller to stop dancing around each other, and debated whether or not Octavia and Lincoln were a good idea.  (Clarke was firmly on Lincoln’s side, Bellamy disagreed vehemently.)  

On the Fourth of July she met him and the other delinquents out on Nyko’s property, where they had their own fireworks show.  What they lacked in polish and artistry they made up for with sheer enthusiasm and a complete lack of safety standards.  As she stood next to his sister and a jumble of their friends, shrieking with delight as the fireworks colored their faces red and yellow, he thought it for the first time.

_I could love her._

But that was a stupid, stupid thought.   _Just the summer.  That’s all she signed on for._   But just as Raven predicted, he couldn’t exactly help himself.  July started slipping away, and when he had a rare Saturday off, instead of spending it catching up with O or helping Raven with her bike he spent it out on the lake, laughing as Clarke whipped the boat around in tight turns, trying to throw Wells off his tube.  She succeeded three times, but on her go around Wells dumped her twice, which he claimed was an unheard of victory.  That evening, instead of going to the park for the sunset they sat at the edge of her dock, their feet dangling in the water.

“Any reason you didn’t take a turn today?” she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Not really a fan of lake swimming,” he admitted.  “You can’t see the bottom.”  She smelled like the lake though, and for the first time in his life he didn’t hate the tangy scent.

Clarke bit her lips and raised her eyebrows, her eyes sparkling with amusement.  “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.  I hate it.  The weeds, too.  I feel like they’re going to pull me under.”

She threw her head back and laughed, and he tossed his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple carelessly, because fine, maybe he loved her and maybe she would be gone in the fall, but he’d deal with that later.

That night, he spent longer than usual teasing her with his tongue, his thumbs spreading her folds open while he tasted her center, her legs draped over his shoulders.  He loved the way she shook as she came, like she was falling to pieces in his hands, and the scrape of her nails against his scalp.  He kissed the curve of her waist as she shuddered through her peak, and then moved to the spot where her rib cage started and then her lips, holding her against him.  

As intimate as that was, that was as far as they’d gone.  Clarke hadn’t pushed for more and he wanted to follow her lead, uncomfortably aware of the years between them.  She sighed happily against him and returned his kiss, her muscles languid under his hands.  She looked up at the clock and groaned.  “Time to go?” he asked, peppering her shoulder with kisses.

“Yeah.”  Clarke wrapped her arms tightly around him and groaned again.  “I don’t want to, though.  I want to stay.  I want–I want to wake up with you.”

Bellamy forced his brain away from images of Clarke’s hair spilled across his pillow in the soft morning light.  “Think you could stay out all night?” he asked, because fuck it, he was already in deep.

She wrinkled her nose in thought.  “I don’t think so.  Not if Mom’s around.  But I’ll see if I can figure something out.”  She rolled away from him and started dressing, and that night leaving her at her side door was harder than ever.

**

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:43pm_

_I talked to Mom and convinced her I should have one last weekend at the house by myself to say goodbye to Lake Arcadia on my own terms._

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:43pm_

_Think you can manage a few days off the weekend after next?  I have to work through this weekend in exchange, but we’ll have the house to ourselves._

_Bellamy Blake_

_9:44pm_

_You’ve got it, princess._

 

It was only mildly irresponsible on his part, since Octavia would be starting as a dispatcher in the fall now that she’d graduated and Raven was still paying her share, so he texted Nyko and emailed the library, within two days he had that entire weekend clear.  He didn’t realize the significance for another three days, when he happened to glance at a calendar and Clarke’s voice echoed in his ears.

 _Move in day is August 20th and orientation is the day after._   She had been talking to Miller at the time and he ignored it, because he ignored anything that had to do with the impending end.

But Clarke was coming up August 14th.

She wasn’t just saying goodbye to her lake house.

She was saying goodbye to  _him_.


	4. Chapter 4

Octavia flopped down on the couch next to him and swiped the remote.  “How’ve you been, big brother? Long time, no see.”  She switched to a reality show that mostly involved rich white ladies throwing wine at each other.

“I’ve kind of neglected you this summer, haven’t I?”

She shrugged one shoulder.  “I’m not complaining–it’s been nice to do my own thing without you breathing down my neck.  Besides, you’ve been busy falling in love with the princess of the Royal Mile.”

Bellamy scrubbed a hand across his face.  “That obvious?”

“‘Fraid so.  You gonna be okay when she ditches you this fall?”  Bellamy stayed silent and Octavia shifted so she could pat his knee.  “Well, I’m here for ya.  Lincoln too, if you’d actually talk to him.”

“I don’t want to talk about or to Lincoln,” he grumbled.

“Big surprise there,” she said in the same tone.  “But I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Thanks, O.”

“Anytime.”  She turned her attention back to the TV and Bellamy told himself his heart wasn’t threatening to crack.

**

He managed to forget his fears when he strode up to the Griffins’ house and Clarke came bounding out to throw her arms around his neck.  He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in until she let go.  “So what’s the catch?  I assume you made some sort deal with your mom,” he asked, brushing her hair off her shoulder.

“I have to call and check in every two hours to prove I’m not drunk, but she goes to bed at ten and knows I sleep in, so…six calls a day.  That’s all.”

“Not bad.”

“I know, right?  I ordered pizza, too, so that should be here soon.”

“Sounds great,” he replied, ducking his head for another kiss.

They ate the pizza on her back porch while the sun set across the lake, and watched the moon paint a path across the water wrapped in each other’s arms on a deck chair.  Clarke told him stories about her father teaching her how to swim and waterski and Bellamy kissed her temple whenever her voice shook.  “Come on,” she whispered eventually and laced her fingers through his.  She pulled him across the lawn and down to their tiny stretch of beach.  Clarke fisted the hem of her shirt and tugged it off in one swift movement.  “I know you don’t like the lake, but just once?  For me?”

Since the beginning, he hadn’t been able to deny her anything, so he stripped off his clothes and chased her into the cool water.  He caught her at the edge of the dock, the water just deep enough to lap against her shoulders, and banded an arm around her waist.  “I still hate the lake,” he murmured against her lips.  “But this is okay.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her feet from the rocky lake bed, drifting slightly in his grip.  “Good,” she whispered, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth.  His hand spanned her lower back as they kissed until a breeze lifted the hair from her neck and made her shiver.  Across the lake a boat puttered back to its dock and Clarke put her feet back under her.  “I–I bought condoms,” she breathed, her fingers playing with the hairs on the back of his neck.  She didn’t look away, her eyes locked on his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to go inside?” he asked, running his hands up and down her sides.

Once more she laced her fingers with his and towed him back to shore.  They gathered their clothes and sprinted across the lawn, giggling when they burst through the french doors to the house and slammed them shut.  Clarke dropped her clothes to the tile floor and kissed him soundly.  “Do you want to take a shower?”

“Do you?”

She rolled her eyes.  “It’s safe to assume that if I’m offering, I’m sure, okay?”

“Then lead the way,” he said, sneaking a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Bellamy knew the layout of the Griffin house well enough that he could navigate it in the dark, but following Clarke, both of them naked and dripping with lake water, through the expansive home was an entirely new sensation.  Her bedroom was the third on the left, done up in white and navy in an unmistakable sailboat theme.  Before he had a chance to comment she pulled him into the spacious bathroom that opened into her room and her lips descended on his.  Together they fumbled toward the shower and steam soon filled the room as they forgot their intention to actually shower, too lost in each other to notice.  

Eventually Clarke pulled back and reached for a shampoo bottle, but Bellamy intercepted her and washed her hair instead.  She relaxed under his touch, and when she tipped her head back to rinse out the suds Bellamy wondered just how he was supposed to survive without her in his life.

But that wasn’t the deal, so he kissed her instead, and soon they were stumbling out of the bathroom, wrapped in thick, plush towels that were quickly discarded on the floor.  Unlike Bellamy’s rickety, ancient twin, Clarke had an enormous four poster bed with a mattress that actually gave under their weight instead of just creaking dangerously.  Bellamy hovered over her, dancing his fingers down her ribs and nibbling at the place where her shoulder met her neck until she started begging for more.  At that he slipped two fingers inside of her, gently drawing them in and out and brushing his thumb against her clit, reveling in his ability to make her fall apart over and over again.

Clarke curled her hand around the back of his neck and brought him down to kiss her.  “Condoms,” she managed between heavy breaths, and he reached toward her nightstand.  He rolled the condom on quickly and then paused, searching her face for signs of doubt.

“Have you ever–?”

Clarke’s eyes flitted away briefly.  “I’m not a virgin,” she said.  There was a slight edge to her voice but when she turned back to him, her eyes were so full of emotion his throat felt thick.  Bellamy settled between her legs and kissed her softly, pulling his head back so he could watch her face as he entered her.  He moved slowly and deliberately, giving her time to adjust, watching as her pupils blew wide and her lips parted.  For a moment he thought he saw a flicker of something–hesitation, doubt, worry–cross her face but then it was gone, and in its place was nothing but happiness.  His arms started to tremble with the strain of holding back and her hands stroked his skin.  “Please,” she whispered, and he started moving, his vision tunneling until she was the only thing left in the world.

Bellamy dropped his head to her shoulder and Clarke’s heels dug into his backside, not letting him move too far away.  “Fuck,” he moaned in her ear and then shifted so he could kiss her, needing to taste her and feel her at the same time.  “Clarke, I–” he mumbled, but she silenced him with another kiss.

“I know, I know,” she gasped, her eyes shining as he started thrusting faster, needing to let go inside of her because he’d never felt more complete.  He came with a near-silent groan, only realizing moments later she hadn’t.  As he softened in her he reached down, ready to work her to completion again, but Clarke shook her head.  “Just hold me,” she whispered thickly, and so he did.  He threw the condom away in her bathroom and curled around her, letting sleep pull them both under.

**

If Bellamy had pictured what it would be like to wake up with Clarke nestled in his arms, reality had nothing on his imagination.  She blinked at him sleepily and a smile crawled across her face, slow and pure.  He captured her lips in a lazy kiss that turned needy as she maneuvered herself on top of him, her hair wild and soft under his hands.  Within minutes she’d handed him another condom and was sinking onto him, her eyes fluttering closed while her hips rocked in time with his.

They barely left her bed all day until late in the afternoon when she dragged him out to the hammock and demanded that he take a nap with her there.  When he woke that time, insects droning around them, she was still in his arms, attempting to sketch despite his arms caged around her.  “None of that,” he murmured.  “You’ve got a–you’ve got me to pay attention to,” he admonished, setting her sketchbook down on the grass and tipping her chin up for a kiss.

“Would you take me up to the park?” she asked.  “One last time?”

“Of course,” he agreed, even though the word last made his heart drop into his stomach.   _Tomorrow.  This ends tomorrow_.

As usual, the rock overlooking the lake was deserted when they pulled in shortly before sunset, and Bellamy stood behind her, his arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder, as they wordlessly watched the sky turn orange and then fade to light purple.  Clarke’s cheeks were wet when she finally turned back to him, and more than anything, he wanted to tell her.

_I love you._

Three words.  That’s all it was, but they seemed too big, too unfair.  He’d almost told her last night and she stopped him, which told him everything he needed to know.   _I love her, but she doesn’t love me.  And that’s fine, because she never signed up for this_. _Just for the summer.  That was the deal._

So he choked back the words that threatened to suffocate him and that night he made himself memorize everything about her, from the way she tasted to the way she bit her lip when he pushed into her.  And the next morning, when she quietly asked if he could leave her a few hours to say goodbye to her father’s favorite place alone, he agreed.

They stood on her lawn in the grey, humid morning, kissing for much longer than he intended. Every time he moved his lips away he changed his mind and kissed her again, unable to bear the thought of ending things.  So he kissed her until their lips were swollen and she buried her face in his chest one last time.  And then with a hoarse goodbye and one last look at her bright blue eyes, he turned to go.

Because he could walk away from her, but he couldn’t bear to watch her leave.


	5. Chapter 5

_Five Years Later_

Bellamy tapped his foot impatiently as the girl in front of him explained her complicated order.  Buying coffee was a luxury he couldn’t really afford, but until he bought himself a coffee maker it was his only option.  O had flat out refused to let him take theirs, which Bellamy felt was rather unfair since between her salary as a sheriff’s deputy and Lincoln’s as a park ranger they could easily afford a new one.  But she insisted, arguing that since she was the one who bought them a coffee maker in the first place with her summer earnings from Indra’s, it was hers to keep.  (Bellamy probably could have put up more of a fight, but seeing as O’s job helped him finish undergrad he decided to just let it go).

But this meant that Bellamy had to navigate his first week of a master’s degree program without a coffee maker, and the cup he’d finished during his TA seminar just wasn’t cutting it.  The door opened, bringing in a puff of steamy air.

“Bellamy?”

His heart plunged into his stomach before he consciously recognized the voice.  He turned slowly, wondering if this was a particularly vivid nightmare from which he would soon wake up.  But there she was, looking just the way he remembered.  Her long blonde hair framed her face and her lips were pink and full, her coral sundress revealing her collarbone and ending just above her knees.  His lungs seemed to have stopped working and he stared for far too long.  “Clarke,” he managed, because he didn’t think this could be real.

 

The barista cleared her throat to get his attention and Bellamy whirled around.  “Uh, just–just coffee.  Black.  Medium,” he stammered.

“I’ll take the same–put it on my card,” Clarke volunteered from behind him.  “I’m sorry, is that okay?” she asked at his look.  Bellamy shrugged, because his brain felt like it was encased in cement.  “Do you have a minute?  To talk?” she asked, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

Bellamy accepted his coffee blindly and sat down in a recently vacated chair.  He’d spent months after that summer imagining what he would say to her if he had one last chance.

_I loved you._

_Did you know that?_

_I never should have let you go._

_I loved you._

He almost called her dozens of times that fall, but every time he picked up the phone his doubts threatened to drown him.   _She’s in college, having a normal life.  You work three jobs just to keep the lights on.  What do you expect to happen?  That she’ll drop everything for a relationship with someone an eight hour drive away?  Someone she could maybe see once every few months?  Someone pathetically in love with her, even though she was very clear that wasn’t what she wanted?_  So every time he picked up his phone he ended up setting it back down, her number undialed.

He hoped she might call him, but she never did.

As the months dragged on, his sadness had flattened and the lingering bitterness receded.  Sometimes he imagined running into her and pretending he didn’t recognize her to prove that summer wasn’t anything special to him either, but he never really believed his own lies.  Bellamy hated how things ended with Clarke, but over time he pulled himself back together and moved on.  He kept working and going to school and eventually there were entire months where he didn’t spare her more than a single thought.  He dated Echo for almost a year before things fell apart for reasons that had nothing to do with a girl he was with for one summer years before. But he never really managed to forget Clarke completely.

And on nights when he couldn’t sleep, he rehearsed the same conversation, over and over again.

_I loved you._

_Did you know that?_

_I never should have let you go._

_I loved you._

The words ran through his head as he watched her sit down in the chair next to him and clear her throat.  “You look good,” she said tentatively.  “How’s Octavia?”

“Good,” he rasped.  “She’s good.  Married to Lincoln.”

Clarke smiled at that.  “I told you he was a good guy,” she teased gently.

“You did,” he admitted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.  “How are you?”

“In my second year of med school, but other than that, I’m good.”  

An awkward silence fell as they watched each other carefully.  “Raven’s still with Wick,” he offered.

“I know.  She and I sort of keep in touch.”

“Right.”  Bellamy looked down and took a sip of coffee.  “So you know about her accident.”  Two years after his summer with Clarke, Murphy ran Raven off the road.  He swore it was an accident, but her leg had never healed properly, even after Wick took her to dozens of different doctors.  The recovery was rough, but Raven never flinched, even when they told her she’d need a brace for the rest of her life.

“I do.  I visited her when she came down for one of her surgeries.”  Raven had conveniently forgotten to mention that, and Bellamy wondered if it was on purpose or if Clarke had asked Raven not to tell him.  “Are–are you seeing anyone?”  Clarke’s voice cracked a little, betraying her attempts at normalcy.

His heart missed a beat even as he told himself he was reading too much into it.  “Not now.  Not for awhile.  You?”

Clarke brought her coffee to her lips and he wondered if she was buying herself time.  “No.  My college girlfriend and I broke up when I came here–she joined the Army, so…”

“So?” he prompted, ever a glutton for punishment where Clarke was concerned.   _She’s probably still in love with her ex_.

“So, between med school and residency, we were looking at a good seven years apart, and then being a doctor doesn’t really fit with the whole Army brat lifestyle.  We keep in touch, but–that’s done.”

_We keep in touch._

_But you never called me._

_I loved you._

_Did you know that?_

“That’s good,” he said, because what else could he say?  _I never should have let you go._

“I wanted to call you,” she said quickly, tripping over her words.  “I must have picked up my phone hundreds of times, but I didn’t know what to say.”

“I loved you,” he blurted out.  He focused on his coffee, worrying at the cardboard sleeve, astonished that a mere five minutes with her erased years of mental pep talks.

Clarke didn’t respond for so long he started to wonder if she’d left.  Then her fingers curled into his palm, her touch as light and soft as he remembered.  “I know.  And I–I loved you too.”

Bellamy didn’t think.  He couldn’t, because he’d spent more time than he cared to admit wanting to hear her say that.  He simply lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles.  He held it there for the space of several heartbeats, his eyes closed, and then came back to himself.

He dropped her hand and downed his coffee in one gulp, scalding his tongue and throat as he stood.  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled and strode out of the coffee shop.  He tossed his empty cup in a garbage can and quickened his stride, his heart thundering in his ears.

Five years later, and not a damn thing had changed.  

“Bellamy!” she called from behind him.  “Please, wait.”  He kept walking but got caught at a light as traffic whizzed past him on a major thoroughfare.  “Bellamy,  _please_ ,” she said, closer now.  He closed his eyes and dug his nails into his palms at the way she begged, because please was something she should be whispering in his ear, not shouting down a busy street because he was running away from her.

A hot summer breeze set her dress swirling around her thighs as she caught up to him.  “I missed you,” she said, so low he almost missed it under the roar of the road.

His throat closed up, so he brought his hand to her face and brushed back a few loose strands of hair before cupping her cheek.  He bent his head toward her, heedless of the students and faculty bustling around them, and slowly closed the distance between them.  He gave her time to flee, to tell him to stop, but all she did was focus her gaze on his lips, her own parted and full.

He hadn’t kissed her in five years.  In those five years, he’d kissed more than a handful of women.  Some of them once, some of them hundreds of times.  But the second his lips met hers, it was as if those years disappeared and he was still twenty-three, kissing her in their spot in the park instead of twenty-eight and kissing her on a busy street corner.  “I missed you too,” he whispered, and Clarke made a broken sound, half-giggle and half-sob.

“Are you busy today?” she asked, their foreheads pressed together.

“Not for a few hours.”  He slanted his mouth over hers again, still worried that this was a dream.

“My apartment is just a few blocks away,” she explained, blushing slightly.

Bellamy smiled so broadly his cheeks ached.  “Lead the way, princess.”

It took longer than it should have to make it to her apartment since they kept stopping to kiss, not caring about the people grumbling at them for being in the way.  Deep down he knew they needed to talk, but somehow he also knew that they had plenty of time for talking in the future.

Clarke kicked her door shut behind her and Bellamy pinned her against it, his hand trailing up her thigh as his lips trailed down her neck.  She moaned when his fingers brushed against the edge of her panties and he grinned against her throat.  He nudged them aside and slid his fingers through the gathering wetness there, his thoughts fading away to mere impressions.   _Clarke.  Wet.  Hot.  Here.  Clarke._  Clarke’s head fell back against the door with a thump, and she whimpered when he brought his fingers to his lips.

At some point in the past five years, he’d convinced himself he didn’t actually remember her taste, that he was imagining the sharp sweetness on his tongue whenever he thought of her.  The second he licked his fingers clean he knew he’d never been more wrong and that he could never, ever forget that taste.  Clarke kissed him fiercely, her teeth nipping at him as she pushed him back toward what he assumed was her bedroom.  She deftly undid the buttons on his shirt and he pulled her dress over her head and popped the clasp on her bra.  It joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor as Clarke stopped moving in front of her bed and Bellamy fell to his knees, kissing a path between her breasts and down to the waistband of her panties.  He paused and ran his thumb over a tiny, unfamiliar scar just to the right of her navel.  Clarke curved her hand around his cheek.  “Appendicitis.  Three years ago,” she explained and pulled him back up to face her.  He didn’t like that–he should have been there for her, should have known every scar on her body.  

Together they shucked the rest of their clothes and Bellamy knelt in front of her bed, her legs spread wide around him with her back against the mattress.  He pushed his tongue inside of her and was rewarded with a long, keening moan that made him do it again and again before dragging his tongue to her clit, pressing down hard and then feathering it with quick, efficient strokes that had her trembling and arching off the bed in minutes.

“Nightstand,” she panted, scooting closer to the center of the bed as he rolled on the condom and positioned himself over her.  Just like the first time, they kept their eyes on each other as he entered her, but this time there was no doubt hanging over them and when he kissed her, he knew this was a beginning, not an end.  Clarke dragged her nails down his back and he balanced on one elbow, drawing tight circles on her clit as he thrusted until she fell apart again and he followed her over the edge.

Even after, he couldn’t stop kissing her.  He kept her face framed with his hands and kissed her over and over again, because it had been both forever and no time at all.  Eventually he rolled to his back and pulled her across his chest.  “Do you have class later today?” Bellamy asked, running his fingers through her hair.

“Mmmmhmm,” Clarke hummed sleepily.  “At four. You?”

“A seminar at three-thirty.”  

Clarke twisted to look at the clock on her wall.  “Then we have four hours before we have to get out of bed.”  She laid an open mouthed kiss just above his heart and propped her cheek on one hand.  “I never did ask what you were doing here.”

“Grad school.  Masters.”  His eyelids felt heavy but he didn’t want to close them.  He wanted to look at her for hours.  Days, possibly.

“So you finished your BA?”

“Yup.  History.”

Clarke wrinkled her nose in a familiar gesture.  “Nerd.”

“Says the science nerd,” he countered, making her laugh and tip her head down to kiss him.

She laced their fingers together.  “I have a confession to make,” she said almost shyly.  Bellamy raised his eyebrows and kissed her knuckles.  “I wasn’t exactly honest with you our last weekend.”  Clarke looked down and swallowed.  “I told you I wasn’t a virgin, but that–that wasn’t strictly the truth.  You were my first.”

Bellamy shifted to his side and tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear.  “I wouldn’t have cared, you know.”

“I know.  And I don’t really have a great reason, but, you know, I’m bi.”

“And?”

“And I knew that then, but I kept thinking–what if I was with a woman?  Should I even consider myself a virgin with everything we’d done?  I decided I didn’t, and when you asked outright, I knew what you meant, but I lied anyway.”  Her breathing was shaky, like she was worried he would be upset.

Bellamy kissed her forehead and ran his hand down her arm, trying to ease her nerves.

She smiled, dropped a kiss to his shoulder, and continued, steadier this time.  “Plus…I always got the feeling that you weren’t comfortable with how young I was, and I thought–I thought if I told you I hadn’t had sex yet, you’d say no, or think I was just a kid.  I had a lot to prove to myself that summer, you know?  I knew I loved you, but god, I was eighteen, and I never thought I’d fall in love with you, and then you were…you were you, and you asked, and I couldn’t stand the thought of not being with you, so…I panicked.”

“I should have told you I loved you,” Bellamy said.  “As long as we’re talking about regrets.  I didn’t think you wanted to hear it, but I should have told you anyway.”

Clarke moved closer and rested her head against his collarbone.  “I should have told you too,” she said against his skin.  

They stayed that way, dozing, until Bellamy’s phone buzzed.  He ignored it, but then it buzzed again.

And again.

And again.

“I should get that,” he mumbled, and Clarke flipped over to stretch her arm out and grab his jeans.  

“Here,” she said, handing his phone over.

 

_Raven Reyes_

_11:11am_

_Shit.  I forgot to tell you something._

_Raven Reyes_

_11:13am_

_It’s important.  Call me okay?_

_Raven Reyes_

_11:16am_

_Where the fuck are you?  O said you’re free in the middle of the day.  CALL ME._

_Raven Reyes_

_11:21am_

_Fine.  Ignore me.  Clarke is at med school down by you.  I forgot to tell you earlier, but I don’t want you to see her and be surprised and throw you into a spiral of self-loathing or something._

 

Bellamy chuckled and showed his phone to Clarke.  She smiled to herself.  “Mind if I respond?”

He settled onto his back with his hands behind his head.  “Be my guest.”

Clarke held the phone carefully so he and his bare chest were out of the shot along, with her bare shoulders, made a face, and clicked.  She hit send and then they waited.

_Raven Reyes_

_11:24am_

_Oh my god fuck you both._

_Raven Reyes_

_11:24am_

_But I won’t yell at you if you fall in love with her this time._

 

Bellamy placed his phone on the nightstand and kissed Clarke because as usual, Raven was probably on to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story wouldn’t have been possible without bleedtoloveher‘s help.


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